My Own Worst Enemy
by devilishblacksheep
Summary: After watching A Little Less 16 Candles... for what was probably the billionth time, and reading the fanfic already in existence, I decided to put my own spin on it, and fill in the gaps. So here it is. Some swearing, violence, etc...nothing new, rly
1. Chapter 1

**After reading the only fanfic about the video, I decided to write my own version. Not that the one I read sucked; it was pretty awesome. I just wanted to write my own version, 'cuz I'm weird that way. So here it is. It starts before the video does, and ends after it…I wanted to fill in the blanks. **

**Oh, before I forget, I'll give credit where credit is due. I got the names of the vamp groups from the "Behind the Video" episode for this video, and the name of the main bad guy is the invention of Yellowfur; I seriously couldn't think of anything better, and it fit, so yeah. And the whole removing of teeth thing is hers too…I did something a little different with it, but the idea was originally hers, so I can't exactly claim it for my own, now can I. The video belongs to Fall Out Boy and the other guys behind it, and the parts that you recognize as such come from it. Dialogue from the video is as close as I can get it, so yeah, that's not mine either. Also, except for characters you don't recognize, I don't own any characters in this story (how sad…lol) The bulk of the action, however, and the way I describe it and my interpretation of it is my own. I think that about covers it. On to the fic!**

Pete mostly blamed himself for what had happened. Oh, rationally he knew that was ridiculous; when a vamp decides you're his next snack that's it, you're pretty much done for. There are the rare instances when someone steps in and distracts the vamp so you can get away, but that usually only happens in the movies, and, while the other guys weren't exactly newbies at the whole vamp-killing thing, they weren't quite at the level of expertise to distract a Dandy with any level of competency. But Pete still blamed himself; he shouldn't have been there, he should have known something was going to happen, he should have opted for the smart thing and ran instead of staying to continue the banter. But, as Patrick kept reminding him, that was in the past, and there wasn't really any point in beating himself up over it; it wouldn't make him any less dead.

There had been a slight vampire problem for the past few weeks, but no one really thought anything of it. They came in now and again, but, to paraphrase Dracula in "Van Helsing", they never ate more than their fill, and less than their share. It wasn't a problem. Of course, he and the guys had immediately started training to defend themselves, since neither one of them had any desire to join the legions of the undead, but they never really ran into any problems. Well, except for the occasional vamp who tried to get a quick bite, but they took care of those pretty efficiently.

Pete had been out, making a much-needed trip to the nearest convenience store for a beer and snack run, when he first saw him. The Baron. He wanted to laugh; the guy looked like he had just walked out of "Gone With the Wind," or some other movie like that. With his bowler hat and cane and suit, he looked like he'd be more at home strolling down a cobblestone street with a lady in hand, not casually leaning against the wall of a 7-11. Pete shook his head, marveling at the crazies who were out at 11 o'clock at night, and entered the store, the man soon forgotten.

A few minutes later he emerged from the store, laden down with a couple cases of beer and a bag full of assorted bags and boxes of prime junk food. He started to leave the parking lot, beginning the ten minute walk back to the apartment, when he was lightly tapped on the shoulder. He could have ignored it, in fact he probably should have, but for whatever reason he turned around, and was face to face with the man he had passed on his way in. "Umm…can I help you?" he asked, shifting the bag so he wouldn't drop it.

The man smiled, revealing two sharp canine teeth. It was at that moment that Pete knew he was in seriously deep shit.

"I believe you can," the man said good-naturedly in a British accent. "I'm feeling decidedly peckish, and was wondering if you'd care to join me for a bite to eat."

Pete backed up, smiling wanly. "N-no, I'm set thanks," he said, indicating his bag and cases of beer.

The man chuckled. "It wasn't so much an invitation as a request…you see, it's been a while since I've fed, and, well, you seem to be the best prospect I've seen all night…" He appeared behind Pete before he could back away any further.

"Well, I'm flattered, really. But you see, I kind of have this thing against people who want to drink my blood…call me crazy, but…" While he spoke he was fumbling in his sweatshirt for a stake, but was coming up empty. Trust him to not have a stake when he really needed one. But by the time he got to "but" the man had sunk his fangs into his neck, and well, after a minute or so he was having trouble coordinating his movements. Pete dropped the bag and beer from nerveless fingers. He tried to pull away, really he did, but the Baron just dug his nails into his shoulder and pulled him back, growling in his throat. So Pete stopped struggling.

The world started going fuzzy, and he was having trouble concentrating. The man started murmuring in his ear. "My name is the Baron. What do they call you, boy?"

"Pete," he muttered, wavering on his feet. The Baron steadied him, becoming the only thing keeping him upright.

"Pete. Peter, I would guess?" Pete nodded. "Excellent. Well, Peter, my dear boy, I do believe you need some rest. It's been a long night for you, hasn't it?" Pete nodded again. "Alright. Then let me take you home. You can rest, and then I'll explain everything to you. You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Again Pete nodded. He had stopped listening for the most part; it took entirely too much effort. "Well, here we go then. Hold onto me tightly, please." Pete did as he was told, grasping the Baron around his chest. "And one, and two, and here we go…" There was a slight woosh of air, and the convenience store was gone, replaced with a large mansion. Pete was almost unconscious by this time from blood loss, so he didn't really notice the change in scenery. The Baron escorted him inside, then led him down to the basement. He rooted around in a pile of wooden boxes in the corner, leaving Pete sitting on the floor leaning against the wall, trying in vain to get his eyes to focus. "Let's see…Peter? How tall are you?" He waited only a second or two for a response he didn't get. "Oh, never mind, I've got it." He pulled a box out from the pile, and brought it over to where Pete was sitting. Pete looked at it dumbly, trying to figure out what it was. Finally the pieces fell into place, and recognition crossed his face. "Coffin?"

The Baron smiled indulgently. "Yes, my boy, it is in fact a coffin. And I will explain to you tomorrow why it is necessary. Just get in; you need sleep, and it is better you get used to it now while you're still human. Trust me." Pete nodded slowly, and did as he was told. He was asleep before the Baron even closed the lid.

**Yeah, yeah…really short chapter. Don't worry; there's more to come. I've already got the next few chapters written…this was just the best place to cut it. Reviews will get the next chapter up sooner (since the posting will be based in interest), so review! Please?**


	2. Chapter 2

**Okay, _finally _I'm posting the next chapter...it's been done for a while, but I don't know, I just never posted it...**

**Just to clear something up: the main characters in this story are NOT the band members of Fall Out Boy, much as people in movies who have the same character name as they do in real life are NOT the actors. And since there is really no other place to put this fic, it is in the category it is in despite the fact that it doesn't really belong there because it was the best place to put it. If anyone has a better place for it, other than "somewhere else" as that is not very helpful, please, by all means, tell me where and I will move it.**

**All the usual things apply; I don't own the characters or the events of the video that are referenced/described...so don't sue.**

Pete woke, and immediately wished he hadn't. His veins were on fire, his mouth felt like it was giving birth to an alien lifeform, and he could swear he was in a box. He tried to sit up, and, sure enough, he hit his head on the inside of the lid. He reached up to rub his injured forehead. "Ow…" Now that that was established, he focused on getting out of the situation. The pain in his mouth and veins wasn't likely to go away at the moment, so he just ignored it the best he could and shifted his attention to getting out of his prison. He pushed on the lid, but nothing. He pounded on it, but it didn't yield even an inch. He yelled for help, but no one answered. He decided to switch tactics.

So why was he in the box to begin with? He thought back to the last thing he remembered. He was at the 7-11, and there was this crazy guy…and the guy bit him. No, people didn't bite people…unless you counted little kids, and the guy definitely was not that. Wait, the guy had fangs…oh, fuck. He had managed to get himself bit by a vamp. This day just kept getting better. That would explain the pain…He reached up to investigate his mouth, and sure enough, there was a set of shiny new fangs in his own mouth. Four pointed teeth, two on each side of his mouth, all on his upper jaw. "Great, just great…"

He was pulled out of his thoughts when the lid to what he now realized was a coffin opened. He sat up, and stared at the man who had opened it, the man who had turned him. "What the fuck did you do to me?"

The Baron raised an eyebrow. "I should think that clear by now, Peter."

"Okay, why me, then?"

"Well, I needed to feed, you were there, and I figured I'd repay you in kind. Oh, and by the way, Peter, you have a little something, right there…" He gestured to his own lips. Pete rubbed a hand across his mouth, and his hand came away with blood. "It happens to all of us, Peter; when your mouth adjusts to the teeth you'll stop biting your lip when you talk."

"Well, I don't want to adjust," Pete snarled. "I didn't ask for this. Take it back…or something…" His voice trailed off when he realized how ridiculous his request was.

"I'm sorry, Peter, but it doesn't work that way. In time you will accept it, and learn to enjoy your new existence."

"Don't call me Peter; it's Pete. And I'm not going to accept it, nor am I going to learn to enjoy it; what are you, insane?"

"I will teach you how to survive, and after that it is up to you to make of it what you will. I cannot force you to do something you don't want to do."

"How noble of you," Pete said sarcastically.

The Baron gave him a pointed look. "Anyway, first off, you need to feed."

"No."

"What do you mean, no? Do you want to die?"

"I'm already dead; what does it matter?"

The Baron sighed. "You still need to feed. I'll make it easy for you the first time; I've managed to procure a few bags of blood from a blood bank, which will tide you over until I have the opportunity to teach you how to hunt."

Pete glared. The Baron grabbed a bag of blood off the table and tossed it to Pete, who intentionally didn't catch it. "Pick up the bag, Peter."

"No."

"Pick it up; you need to feed. You are weak at the moment; you've just gone through the change, and your energy reserves are low. Pick up the bag."

Pete glared at the Baron again, but reluctantly picked the bag off the floor. "There. You happy now?"

"Don't be childish. Now, it is very simple; all you do is bite the bag, piercing the plastic with your fangs, and drink the blood that flows out. Instinct will take over from there."

Pete gave the bag a look of disgust. He looked back up at the Baron, who looked bored. He sighed, and brought the bag up to his lips. "Bottoms up," he muttered, and did as instructed.

His brain was screaming at him that this was _wrong_, it was _unnatural_, and he didn't argue. But the more he drank, the better he felt. He didn't mind the taste as much as he thought he would have; sure, it tasted like copper coins, but it was like he was a starving man – it didn't matter what it tasted like, as long as it was food. He drained the bag in under a minute, and was sucking at it long after it was empty, trying to get the last few drops. The Baron touched his shoulder lightly, and handed him the second bag when he looked up. He nodded his thanks, and drank it greedily, growling low in his throat when the Baron tried to take the bag away from him when it too was empty. The Baron swatted him on the nose like a disobedient dog, which surprised Pete enough that he let go of the bag, and bared his fangs at him when he realized the bag was gone.

"That's enough. You don't need any more at the moment." Pete looked at him like a kid whose toy had just been taken away. The Baron looked at him in amusement. "And just a few minutes ago you were refusing to drink it." He chuckled.

Pete shook his head, clearing the fog that had clouded it after he had started feeding. "Ahh yes, the bloodlust," the Baron said after watching Pete's action. "I forgot to mention that."

"Bloodlust?" Pete asked, wiping his mouth and wiping the blood disgustedly on his pants.

"Yes. Once you start feeding, the bloodlust kicks in, and the more you feed the more you want to feed. It's insurance, of a sort; not many actually like the taste of blood, so there is a biological response to ensure that enough is consumed to actually do some good. Of course, there are a few who do like the taste, and those are the violent ones, since the bloodlust only makes them more aggressive. And if you drink too much blood you end up that way as well, since it is cumulative, but that almost never happens. Only if you go too long between feedings, and even then it rarely occurs."

"Duly noted," Pete said. "Anything else you forgot to mention? Like, how you become a psychotic bastard?"

"Tsk tsk, Peter. There is no need for namecalling. And I haven't finished teaching you. I would assume most of it you know already; allergic to garlic and holy water, stay out of sunlight, and main causes of death include stake to the heart or beheading and burning of the body. Most injuries will regenerate on their own, but for major ones, I would suggest an extra feeding to speed up the process. What else, what else…a secondary ability may manifest; teleportation, turning into a bat, controlling bats or wolves, that kind of thing. Also, I would suggest sleeping in a coffin, as it is the most effective way to keep the sunlight out during the day. Other abilities include increased speed, and heightened senses and reflexes."

"Sounds like the warning in a drug commercial," Pete observed.

"Are you this amusing all the time, or is this just a special occasion?" The Baron asked dryly.

"Nope; my gift to you," Pete said perkily, a fake grin on his face.

"Oh, how _marvelous_," the Baron returned, rolling his eyes.

**The next chapter will be up as soon as I finish it, provided I get enough of a response...**


	3. Chapter 3

**Yeah yeah, took too long to post, etc. I blame the long absence on summer and phone internet. Anyway, here's the next chapter. I think I'm going to move this over to fiction press, since it was brought to my attention that it would be a better fit there and would be better received. Still not sure how that works, since this fic isn't entirely of my own creation (you know, being based on previously created characters and events and all), but whatever. Here's the next chapter, expect the rest of them over at fiction press…and just so it's not too confusing, I'll start posting the last two chapters up over there too. Just to test the waters, so to speak. **

Time passed, as it has a tendency to do. Pete's friends had started to worry when he didn't come back from his trip to the convenience store, and they started looking for him the next day. Of course, everyone they talked to told them to stop searching; the town was just starting to get overrun by vampires, and disappearances were commonplace. "I'd give it up if I were you," a man at the gas station told them. "You won't find him now – he's gone. And if you do…" He stopped talking, but the rest of his sentence was plain; if they did manage to find him, he wouldn't be Pete anymore. Not the Pete they had grown up with, anyway.

"I don't care what that guy said," Patrick told them later, after they had returned to their hideout. "We have to find him. We just _have_ to."

Joe nodded, but Andrew looked skeptical. "You heard what he said though; either he's bat food or they've turned him. There's no point."

Patrick glared at him. "_I don't care_." Andy glared back, but Patrick continued. "He'd do the same for any of us, it's only fair."

Andy deflated, but kept his scowl. "_Fine_. But if any one of them bites me, I'm going to haunt your ass forever. And it won't be fun."

Joe raised an eyebrow, but let the comment go. Some things just weren't worth it.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Fuck you, I'm not doing it," Pete growled.

The Baron sighed, trying to maintain his patience. "You will if you want to live."

Pete snorted. "Yeah, we all know how high that is on my list of priorities." The Baron was reminded of Pete's recent…_incidents_, ranging from tearing his veins open with his own teeth and hiding from him in hopes that he could exsanguinate himself before the Baron found him (which didn't work), to an attempt to ash himself in sunlight while the Baron was asleep (one of the servants found him before he had gotten more than a hand in the beam of light he had managed to uncover) to an effort to stake himself. That was an amusing one, to say the least.

Pete had been sitting in the drawing room, being his usual petulant self. He didn't want to be here, he didn't want to be learning all the things the Baron wanted to teach him, and he definitely didn't want to be a vampire. But, unfortunately, there wasn't much he could do about the situation. He couldn't leave because the Baron ran him ragged all night and during the day he couldn't leave the house without becoming a pile of ash. He could only hold out so long against the Baron when he was determined to teach Pete something, and there was absolutely no way he could go back to being human. None that he knew of, anyway. And his previous efforts to gain control over the situation had backfired. Suicide attempts weren't normally his thing, but neither was being undead, so…

He saw a wooden chair sitting in the corner. _Well that's just ridiculous; why would a vampire have a chair made of something deadly to vamps sitting right in the open?_ He wondered just how right Bram Stoker had been in his story. Maybe wood was no more deadly to vamps than anything else; it seemed a random substance to be fatal anyway. He wasn't sure what made him do it, any more than he knew what had possessed him the past two times. Probably a combination of wanting to see how far he could push the Baron, and feelings of frustration at his new situation and a self-loathing that was slowly creeping into his subconscious. Whatever it was, he approached the chair and broke off the leg, then drove it into his chest. Unfortunately, all he got for his trouble was a searing pain in that area, which only intensified as the seconds passed and he didn't become a pile of ash. He staggered against the wall, swearing under his breath at his immense stupidity. What was he thinking?

He pulled at the piece of wood sticking out of his chest, but his fingers were starting to go numb, and his efforts were useless. Blood slowly gathered around the edges of the makeshift stake, pooling until gravity finally took hold of it and pulled it in drops towards the ground. It was at this point that the Baron entered the room, having become mildly concerned when it became very quiet in the parlor. He stood in the doorway and took in the scene, seeming to find the entire thing quite humorous, if the quirk in his lips was any indication. He approached Pete, who was by now slumped on the floor, leaning against the wall, fingers loosely clutched around the wooden stake. The Baron crouched down next to him, taking care to skirt the small puddle of blood on the floor. He grasped the stake and pulled, slightly harder than was truly necessary, which elicited a slight groan from Pete. The Baron grimaced in distaste, then sighed. "A little more to the right, Peter," he said, sounding a little disappointed. "Why does no one seem to pay attention in anatomy anymore? The heart is more towards the _center_ of the chest, but nobody ever seems to know that these days. It's a little pathetic, to be honest."

He turned his thoughts back to the matter at hand. It was beginning to be something of a nuisance. Pete's attempts were actually the reason they were here; with his insistence on trying to kill himself and subsequent failures, he needed to feed way sooner than if he had just accepted his new existence.

"Yes, well, it isn't my fault that you are having trouble adjusting. I have done my best to make the transition as painless as possible for you, and I cannot be held accountable if you insist on being juvenile about the whole thing."

"_Juvenile_?" Pete let out a harsh laugh. "I'm sorry if I'm not exactly tripping over myself to thank you for turning me into a bloodthirsty freak. I didn't ask for it; you could have just killed me then and there, or, better yet, let me go home. Your life, or, should I say, _death_, would be much better because of it."

The Baron sighed again. "Just go feed. There's a girl over there, she shouldn't be much of a problem. And remember what I taught you; it will go much smoother if you do."

Pete scowled. Unfortunately, his stomach was protesting enough that he couldn't argue. "Alright, stop your lecturing," he muttered.

He walked casually over to the girl, pretending he was just a normal guy. Yeah, a normal guy walking around town at midnight. Real normal. "Hey," he said.

She smiled shyly. "Hey." She stumbled a little, and reeked of alcohol. So she was drunk. Not too bad; shouldn't be too hard, then. He struck up a conversation, nothing too deep. Made her laugh a few times, put her at ease. That was the main thing the Baron stressed; keep the intended victim at ease enough (or catch them unawares) so they won't put up a fight when they realize what you're doing. Or at least, by the time they put up a fight it's too late.

Before he knew it, she was right next to him, the scent of her perfume in his nose, the sound of her veins pulsing in his ears. His breathing picked up, his body anticipating the meal, but the girl misinterpreted it, not knowing the danger that was right in front of her. She kissed him, pushing him up against the wall, the alcohol dulling her inhibitions. He moaned softly, the contact proving too much for his vampiric nature. He broke the kiss, moving towards her neck, simultaneously switching positions so it was he pinning her to the wall, the voice in the back of his mind screaming at him to stop. She giggled as his fangs scraped her neck. "Nice fangs. Where'd you get 'em? I've always had a bit of a-a _thing_ for vampires in the movies. But I can never find good ones; they never stick."

Pete swallowed thickly, trying to hold back. "Th-thanks," he muttered, trying to think of anything other than why he was here. But the call of the blood was too strong, his need too great. He buried his fangs in her neck, drinking deeply of the blood that was forced out with every beat of her heart. She started to struggle, finally realizing what was going on, but by now the bloodlust had kicked in, and his inner protests were forgotten. He drained her, shaking the body a little as the flow slowed, instinct telling him to drink every last drop.

When no more blood would come, he dropped the body, the bloodlust already dissipating. He slowly backed away, realizing the extent of what he had done. He felt sick. Blood was everywhere; it was all he could smell, all he could taste. He wanted to puke, but he knew that would defeat the purpose, and his stomach wouldn't let him.

"What did I do…" he ran a shaky hand through his hair, backing up further, unable to keep from looking at the lifeless body in front of him.

A hand was placed on his shoulder, causing him to jerk away and turn, hissing. "Shh, no need for that," the Baron said soothingly. "Nicely done; a clean kill. Most make a huge mess their first time; get into a struggle, kill the victim before they even get a chance to feed, get blood everywhere, cause a scene that then needs to be taken care of...But you – you are a quick study, young Peter." He smiled in pride. "I can see I certainly chose well."

Pete scowled. "How can you live with yourself?"

The Baron smirked. "Whatever do you mean, Peter? You seemed to be enjoying yourself over there…"

Pete growled warningly, and moved as if to tackle him, but when he reached where the Baron had been, he had disappeared. Pete landed hard on the ground, groaning. The Baron chuckled from behind him. "Tsk tsk, Peter. When will you learn? You mustn't rely on brute force alone; you need subtlety, finesse."

Pete scowled, grumbling as he stood up. "If you would just stay in one place, brute force would work," he muttered under his breath.

"What was that, Peter?"

"Nothing. And it's _Pete_. Pete. Not Peter; if I wanted people to call me Peter, I would introduce myself that way."

"Pete sounds like a street urchin. Peter sounds noble, kingly."

"'Cuz I'm the epitome of nobility…"

"You could be. Join the Dandies and you could have anything you want; power, respect, anything. Like I said, you have potential."

Pete snorted. "I think I've made it pretty clear that I'd rather die. Or, even better, see you dead."

The Baron's eyes narrowed, his voice going cold. "Yes, you have at that. Well, don't say I didn't offer."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The guys were working on a tip. A phone call they had gotten in the middle of the day, telling them to go to such and such an address as soon as they could. They found the building, an abandoned warehouse. It probably would have been considered creepy if it was dark, but the sun was high in the sky, and they were all too curious about why they were there to worry about it.

Joe was the first to get to the door. He knocked on the side of the building. "Anyone home?" Andy smacked him on the side of the head. "Ow! What was that for?"

"It's an abandoned building, dumbass…who do you think is going to answer you?"

Joe shrugged. "Dunno. It was worth a try…" Andy shook his head and pushed past him to roll up the aluminum door.

It was considerably darker inside. Everything was covered in white sheets to keep out dust, and most of the things inside looked like they had been there for years. Patrick turned on a flashlight and played the beam over everything, trying to figure out why they had been told to go there.

There was a noise coming from nearby, a quiet clunk that echoed off the walls. They all turned in that direction, and Joe started moving towards it. Patrick grabbed the sleeve of his shirt. "What are you, crazy? You don't know what's over there!"

"You got a better idea? At least I'm trying to figure out what's going on here; you never know, it could be Pete."

"I seriously doubt Pete spends a lot of time hanging out in abandoned warehouses. But you could be right." Patrick let go of the sleeve, and Joe started creeping towards the source of the noise.

When he got there, he found a long box, the only thing in the entire warehouse that was uncovered. It looked like it had been placed there fairly recently. "Hey, guys! I think I found something!"

Patrick and Andy moved towards him, picking their way around the various obstacles that tried to trip them. But when Patrick saw what Joe was standing near, the blood in his veins turned to ice. "Joe, back away from the box," he said, voice even.

"Why?"

"It's a coffin. And there is only one reason there would be a coffin in an abandoned warehouse. Boys, I think we've been set up."

"Shit!" Joe yelled, and backed away from the coffin as quickly as he could, tripping over it in the process. His foot got caught on a hose that had been carelessly dropped on the floor, and he lost his footing, falling to his knees and knocking into the box in the process. It slid off the coffee table it was resting on, hitting the floor with a jolt. It bounced, then overturned. The lid opened, and, to their shock, a very pale body rolled out onto the floor.

"I-Is that who I think it is?" Andy stuttered.

Patrick nodded dumbly. "Yeah, I think it is." Pete.

"Umm…what's he doing in a coffin, if I may ask?"

"I don't know, Joe. I think we're all wondering that."

Pete's eyes fluttered, and he groaned. He sat up, rubbing his eyes. "What is this, some new form of torture? Like 'musical chairs' only with coffins and no music and -" He looked around, and was surprised to see Joe, Andy, and Patrick looking at him in a combination of confusion and horror. "Hey, guys, you found me," he said, a hesitant smile on his lips. He stood up cautiously, stomach dropping when they instinctively backed up a few steps. "What's up?" he asked shakily. He tried to hide his fangs, but it was a lost cause and he knew it. The damage had been done the minute he had fallen out of the coffin.

"Pete? What…happened? You went out for a beer run, and, well…you never came back." Patrick was making an effort to show that it was alright, Pete was alright.

"Yeah, sorry about that," he said, staring at his feet. "There's this new vamp in town, the Baron, and I was just leaving 7-11 to go back to the apartment, and…he kinda…bit me."

"Yeah, we noticed," Joe said before thinking. Andy smacked him again, and there was a low "ow."

"I tried to get back, honest, but he just wouldn't let me leave. And then the sun came up, so I couldn't, and well, here we are. How'd you guys find me, anyway?"

"We got a phone call a few hours ago that we should check this building out…the guy said it would be 'worth our while'."

Pete swore under his breath. "The Baron. The sneaky bastard. Nice way to get rid of me, I guess…"

Patrick gave him a weird look. "Mind letting us mortals in on what's going on?"

Pete winced, a movement that didn't go unnoticed. "Well, the Baron knew I hated him, not surprising, really, and he was going to let me leave, since he figured I was prepared enough, or something. The only problem was doing it so I wouldn't kill him before I left…So he gets one of his goons to bring my coffin here and calls you guys to come get me. I can't hunt him down while the sun's up, now can I? And by the time I can, he'll probably have moved already, so I can't find him right away." He yawned. "What time is it, anyway?"

Andy looked at his watch. "3 o'clock."

"Four hours 'til sundown then. Great."

"So what do we do in the meantime?" Asked Joe.

They all looked at Patrick. "What?" He asked, incredulous. They looked at him meaningfully. He sighed. "Why does it always have to be me?"

"'Cuz you're the smart one…?" Said Andy.

"Well, there's a lot of stuff in here we could use back at the apartment..." He paused. "Actually, this would make a really cool lair…It's even big enough for a machine shop. And no one else is using it…" His voice trailed off as he thought of all the improvements they could make on the space.

The rest of the day was spent moving stuff from the apartment to the warehouse and making the space more livable. They worked late into the night, erecting walls and putting everything away just right. Finally, after two days of work, they were done. It was home.


	4. update

**Alright…everything is all caught up on fictionpress, so those of you interested in continuing reading the adventures of Pete and the rest of the gang should probably check over there fairly regularly, since I'll try to post the next chapter within the next couple of days. Just figured I'd give a heads up, since I do so enjoy reading what you all have to say and no one over there is saying a darn thing…it's kind of depressing, actually…**


End file.
